Lordy, lordy...

I still remember my mom’s 40th birthday. Black balloons. Signs that said “Lordy, lordy, look who’s 40.” I celebrated my 40th birthday last week and it’s a strange feeling to be an age I can remember my mom being.

My friend, Beth, asked me what I wanted to do to celebrate. As an Enneagram 9, I had no idea how to answer that question! So, I took some time to think about it.

I’ve always wanted to run a half marathon. It’s on my bucket list. I’ve trained and completed a couple of 5k’s, and that’s amazing, but I always believed I had it in me to do a half. Years ago I was considering it, but we were also trying to get pregnant, and then I was pregnant, and then I had a little one. Once Noah got a little bigger and I figured out better balance, we were trying to get pregnant again! I knew I didn’t want to start training and work hard just to have to cancel because I was pregnant. So, I decided, that’s how I want to mark my 40th year. And it turned out to be one of the top five decisions of my life.

If you read this post, you know that I have a complicated relationship with my body. So, going into training, I decided that I wanted to train in a way that was kind and healthy for my body, not beating it into submission, but partnering with it to do this well. I had a few goals: 1) Don’t throw up. 2) Don’t get injured. 3) Run the whole thing.

In this spirit, I decided to start slow in my training. I’d done the couch to 5k plan a couple of times and found it to be really good. So, that’s what I started with and I built from there. I did some research on training plans and lots of people have lots of theories around what’s best for you. By the time I finished the couch to 5k, I was about 10 weeks out from my race and decided to start trying to add about one mile a week until it was time to taper. I also found that what worked best for me was to do a four or five mile run once or twice a week and to do a short 1-2 mile run the day before a long run.

So far I have not thrown up or been injured. I’ve also learned to listen to my body. Because of that, I have let go of my third goal. Ultimately, my more important goal is to finish the race without injury. And if that means I need to walk for a minute and stretch to get blood flow back to my calves, that’s what I want to do. Because my body, she is my partner in this whole thing, and I want to give her what she needs.

Listen, I have never loved running. I used to dread the Presidential fitness challenge and rarely finished in the time limit. Fourteen year old Casey would be so proud of me! I ran nine miles the other day! I used to say that I got a runner’s low: I felt nauseous and depressed after a run.

What I’ve found is that this process has been tremendously helpful and healing for me. As someone who sometimes experiences anxiety, I’ve found running to be the most helpful thing I’ve ever done to support my body in an anxious season. When we’re anxious, our bodies release adrenaline. This is a gift to us. The role of adrenaline is to give our body the extra resources it needs in a crisis to save our lives. But what if there’s no bear? If someone rings my doorbell and my dog loses it, my body thinks that we are in the midst of a crisis. If I have a conversation with a friend and get in my head about it later: crisis. Adrenaline is not actually helpful in either of those situations (it just makes me cranky with the missionaries at my door). I’ve found that running helps my body use up those extra, unnecessary resources. So, my overall anxiety has been lower and I’ve been sleeping better.

I’ve also grown quite fond of my body. I know that sounds weird, but it’s true. She’s worked hard and she’s shown up for me. And she can do SO much more than I ever realized. She’s strong and healthy. She’s slow, but steady and has amazing endurance. She’s resilient and I’m really proud of her.

Guys. I haven’t lost one pound. Truly. The scale has the same number as it did months ago. My body has changed some because I’ve gained some muscle. Maybe my clothes fit a little differently, but it’s not been drastic. Even though the amount of running has been drastic! I did not sign up for this for weight loss. It wasn’t about that. And it is a little confusing and weird that I haven’t lost weight. But I’m not angry at my body for that. As a matter of fact, I feel more comfortable in my own skin than I can remember feeling. I feel great about my body right now. Not because I’ve reached a goal weight or I’m suddenly the right size, but because she’s on my team. She’s a hard worker and is GOOD. She is healthy. She is strong. I actually love her. She carries so much for me and I ask so much of her and she keeps showing up. She is beautiful. Every curve and line of her. And I am just so grateful for her.

Did you know that we live most of our lives pretty disconnected from our bodies? Andy Stanley said we are least aware of what is most present. There are few things as present in our lives as our bodies. When was the last time you noticed your left ear? Or your right big toe? Unless something’s wrong or we’re experiencing pain, we tend to live pretty unaware of our bodies unless we are doing something very physical with them. Running has helped me reconnect with my body in some helpful and important ways and I’ve learned to listen to her and trust her.

On this idea of disconnection, Hillary McBride challenges us to use pronouns when we talk about our body. Did you even realize that you most often describe your body as it? I bet you noticed I used she and her and it felt a little weird. Honestly, it feels a little weird for me, too. But I’m trying to think of my body as less of an object and more of a person. I’d love to challenge you to try this. I just went back and read what I’d written and noticed that early on, I actually called my body “it.” So, I’m still working on this. But you see that when I start to talk about how I relate to my body, the pronouns came.

I was afraid to talk about the half marathon early on in my training because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to do it. The race is next week and this thing is happening! I’m actually really excited about it! So, next Saturday, while you’re enjoying your coffee and pancakes, pray for me (and my sweet husband, he’s running with me)! Or better yet, come on up to Raccoon Mountain and cheer us on!

Dear Body,

Note: To clarify, this post was written several months ago when we were about to start a round of IVF. As I mentioned in a different post, that round was unsuccessful.

We have had a rocky relationship, at best. It started out ok. When I was a little girl, I was pretty unaware of you. I mean, I knew I could run and jump and be tickled. I knew what it felt like to swim in our cold, cold creek and come back up to the house and put warm, dry clothes on. I remember things like watermelon running sticky down my chin. I remember when my parents bought a new car and picked us up from my aunt and uncle’s house. It was late and I was in pj’s and my feet were bare. I remember running them back and forth over the soft upholstery of the car. My attitude toward you was neutral at worst.

I remember when that changed.

I overheard two people who loved me very much talking to one another. “Casey’s getting fat.” I didn’t know. I hadn’t noticed how my body was getting rounder, my lines softer. I could still run and jump and it seemed fine to me. Until then. To this day, when I hear someone refer to themselves or someone else as fat, I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. It feels violent that we would talk about our own body or someone else’s that way.

I didn’t know what to do about it, but I knew it wasn’t ok. Not much changed in how I treated you after that, not right away, but how I thought of you shifted tremendously. I was ashamed of you. That makes me so sad now to say that. But it’s true. Not too long after that I started cheerleading. I loved it so much and you were pretty amazing. I remember running back and forth across the yard, teaching myself to do roundoffs, practicing cheers and jumps. Cheering is hard work and I was here for all of it. I wasn’t trying to lose weight, just doing something I loved. But I did. And people noticed. And that felt good. Another overheard conversation: “Casey used to be kinda chubby like, but she’s slimmed down.” Relief.

As kids, we all believe the world is watching. We believe we’re in the spotlight. And overhearing conversations like these, reinforced that belief. Body, I believed you were a topic of conversation, because you were. People were looking at you and forming opinions about you. So, I decided to do whatever I could to keep you in check.

I remember getting weighed in gym class freshman year. We stepped on the scale and the teacher called out the number. I was 101 lbs. That number scared me. I thought I was fat. So, most days I skipped lunch that year.

We were fine, for the most part, until about 10 years ago. I started getting migraines, struggled with feeling nauseous most of the time, and was chronically fatigued. I went to the doctor a number of times, asking for tests. There were no answers. I felt betrayed. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you get it together? I’d been healthy for so much of my life, hadn’t gone to a doctor at all for over a decade. and now this? I went to a practice that took a more “wholistic” approach and they took me off food and put me on supplements. No dairy, gluten, corn, eggs, soy, low carb. You were not ok through that process and the detox. It got worse before it got better. Maybe you needed that. Maybe you did. I was so mad at you. It felt like a betrayal. I realize now you were just trying to tell me that you weren’t ok. I still don’t understand why. What happened?

I was a surprise baby, so I expected pregnancy to come easily. When it didn’t, I blamed you. It’s such a helpless feeling to be trying to get pregnant and not be able to. No one could give us answers. And then it happened. And then the biggest betrayal of all: we lost the baby. I was so mad at you. How could you do that? People get and stay pregnant all the time. Why couldn’t you?? Part of me knows that it’s not your fault. But it’s so much easier to blame you than to let there be mystery.

When we got pregnant again almost immediately, I called a truce with you. I was still angry. But I didn’t want to do anything to mess that pregnancy up, so I was kind to you. You are a wonder. The way you grew and held and protected and nourished that perfect baby boy. I remember exactly what his little feet felt like pressing into my ribs. I remember what it felt like to be kicked in the bladder. Because you carried him. We still don’t really understand why my water broke when it did. He hadn’t dropped, it was two and a half weeks early. Labor progressed so slowly. Over 30 hrs of labor, 2 1/2 hrs of pushing and a c-section later, and he was here. You and I had some things to work through. Why did that end in a c-section? Why couldn’t you deliver him? Breast feeding went ok, but you didn’t produce a ton of milk and he weaned himself at seven months.

I was having back problems after he was delivered and you were in chronic pain. That may have something to do with your struggle to produce milk. Just getting through the day was really hard on you. I had been working 12 hr days, even the day that I went into labor. Maybe it was too much to ask of you. I can be so hard on you, I ask you to carry so much. I think maybe I’ve been unkind to you.

We have put you through a lot the last few years. Five rounds of IUI. You’ve probably given up quarts of blood for all the blood work. You’ve been poked and prodded everywhere imaginable. You’ve been ramped up with hormones and carried the pressure of all of our expectations. You’ve lost three more babies and I’ve expected you to carry the grief of that, all the while blaming you for it. And to add insult to injury, I’ve been so mad at you for not being the size that I’d prefer. When I write all this out, that seems so ludicrous!

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being so hard on you and blaming you for so much. You have been so strong. You are healthy. You lift up that beautiful boy and carry him with your strong arms. You are soft when he snuggles in. You are able to run and jump and feel pleasure and let me know when I need a break or I’m pushing myself too hard. You have been so good to me and my family and I’ve been so hard on you.

I have to ask more of you. Tomorrow we start stimulation for IVF. You’re going to get injections and pills every day. I’m going to throw you all out of wack. I’m going to work hard to take care of you through all of this. And I hope so dearly that this leads to a baby. Truly I do. But I won’t blame you if it doesn’t. And this is it. After this, you can have a break. You can do this. I know you can. Because you are a wonder.